


eternal flame

by thunderylee



Category: KAT-TUN (Band), NewS (Band)
Genre: Angst, Canon Universe, Infidelity, M/M, Mental Illness, Murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-02
Updated: 2010-12-02
Packaged: 2019-01-30 08:32:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12649932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thunderylee/pseuds/thunderylee
Summary: Hell hath no fury like a lover scorned.





	eternal flame

**Author's Note:**

> reposted from agck.

The house was gorgeous. Two stories, all wood, white-painted shutters with gargoyle statues at the points just like in the movies. The price had been outrageous and the upkeep wasn’t much better, but they could afford it and snatched it up at first sight.

Together.

They weren’t official; they couldn’t be. Life in the public eye didn’t allow for that kind of openness. Everybody knew – how could they not? – but when asked, they denied it. They had to. They laughed it off, leaning on each other as usual. _Nah, we’re just friends._

For five years, they’ve been ‘just friends’. Jin doesn’t even remember how it happened anymore, only that it led to this spacious property and the memories within it. As he goes from room to room, aimlessly swinging his arms, he revisits all of the times he spent with Yamapi, within these walls that were a symbol of their love.

Yamapi had confessed in the kitchen of all places, while Jin was making pancakes some random morning. He doesn’t remember when anymore, just that the “I love you” that came out of Yamapi’s mouth had nothing to do with the food Jin was cooking, the food that nearly burned down the house when Jin had turned to stare at him.

Now, Jin snorts at the irony. The stainless steel appliances and marble counters were spotless save for a thin layer of dust from neglect. Jin can’t remember the last time either of them actually cooked. He can’t even remember the last time they ate together. The life of a star didn’t sync schedules.

The dining room was only used for company, decoratively set with the fancy-pants dishes and cutlery that Yamapi’s mom had bought them as a housewarming gift. They weren’t the kind to entertain – Jin laughed at the thought of Ryo and Shirota sitting down to a proper meal with them, calmly discussing the entertainment industry and the state of the world while sipping wine with their pinkies in the air.

Jin kicks a leg of one of the chairs as he twirls by, just to knock it out of place.

Through the wide archway into the main room he goes, where everyone would hang out whenever they had company. One entire wall is practically lined with electronics – 72″ HDTV, state-of-the-art sound system, video game consoles, and speakers all over. In the middle is the suede sectional, hunter green, with recliners on both ends and a cushion that is usually flipped down to display cup holders and ashtrays.

That couch is also where they first made love. Not long after the confession, naturally, although Yamapi didn’t give it up right away. That’s what Jin liked about him – he considered things carefully before jumping right in. It made it better, made Jin want him more, and when Yamapi finally looked to him with pleading eyes, Jin couldn’t make it any further than the couch.

Jin spends a long time on the couch, letting the reality soak in. He won’t ever touch Yamapi again.

Sliding the door open to the tatami room, Jin smiles at the sight of the bulky heated blanket surrounding the little table. This would have been their fifth winter snuggled on one end, drinking warm tea and watching the snow fall outside the full-length window. Heartbeats beating together as one, the rare relaxing evenings making up for the whirlwind of work during the holiday season. If Jin tries hard enough, he can recall the scent of Yamapi’s cologne.

A quick peek in the downstairs bathroom – nothing particularly memorable had happened there that he can recall, but they’d had quite a good time picking out the brightly patterned decor at 3am one night – and Jin’s trudging up the carpeted stairs, purposely bypassing the first door in favor of the second and third. The first one is (was) Jin’s studio, which has been cleared of anything remotely important, and the second one is Yamapi’s office-slash-storage room.

In the second room, a few boxes are haphazardly opened, Christmas decorations strewn all over the place. That’s as far as they had gotten this year, and Jin’s not that brokenhearted about keeping them.

Jin spins a few extra times in this room. The fake tree and wreaths and lights will look even better lit up from the inside.

The last door taunts him, the gummy remains of adhesive from the last ridiculous sign they’d stuck up there. Jin thinks the most recent one just said “sex room,” which makes him laugh again because the last time anyone had sex in this room, it had nothing to do with him.

Yamapi’s lying in bed, peacefully asleep, and Jin pauses to appreciate the sight. Yamapi really is beautiful, every part of him. His flawless skin shines in the minimal light from outside, his plump lips relaxed. His breathing is even, his chest rising and falling rhythmically. His hair falls all around his face, his arms clutching onto the spare pillow like he’s missing someone. He probably is.

It’s not Jin. It’s not anyone, actually, since Jin had already taken care of that one on his way here.

He practically dances around their bedroom, making enough noise to wake the dead, but luckily Yamapi won’t be waking anytime soon. Jin had made sure of that when he’d generously retrieved medicine for Yamapi’s sudden headache earlier.

It was cute how Yamapi just threw back the pill and swallowed, trusting Jin completely. It made Jin feel a little better about trusting Yamapi completely too.

Now they’ve both been betrayed.

“I love you,” Jin whispers, leaning down to kiss the lips that don’t even twitch at the contact, then dumps the last of his loathing on Yamapi’s pretty head. “So much it _burns_.”

The fumes make him a bit woozy, but that just makes it even easier to flick his Zippo in the front yard, assessing this perfect structure before him that led to such imperfection. The rope shakes in his hold, and he looks down to see it’s because his own hand is shaking, his nerves on edge as he experiences one last singe of regret for what could have been.

For the man he loved.

Then he remembers what it looked like when he came home last week, undetected, and watched that beautiful face contort in ecstasy over the shoulder of the whore bouncing on his lap. In their bed.

That’s what he gets for returning early.

Jin doesn’t actively acknowledge lowering the Zippo, dropping the rope, and jumping back to watch the fireworks. All he knows is the bright lights, the explosions, and the satisfying sounds of revenge mixed in with the music box accompaniment that gets louder and louder in his head. The familiar tune is appropriate background music as everything it stands for starts to crumble.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he hears a scream from the past.

He retreats to the top of the hill before the fire department arrives, hopping up onto the trunk of his car and pulling his knees to his chest as the flames dance in his eyes. Hope springs eternal, he thinks. He’ll love again, he’s sure of it.

And next time, he won’t let it get this far.


End file.
